


Everyone Dies For Their Own Sins

by DetectiveIdiotBoy



Series: Idiot Savant [4]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Accidental overdose, Angst, Drug Use, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, MacCready and Nate are trying to be friends again, Med-Tek Mission Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:13:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28171476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DetectiveIdiotBoy/pseuds/DetectiveIdiotBoy
Summary: MacCready sighed, flopping down on his bed with his head in his hands. How did he manage to keep getting into trouble like this? Most 22-year-olds don’t have more than one or two near-death experiences in the span of three months, not even in the Wasteland. He was just unlucky, he guessed. MacCready could only hope that Nate’s ability to cheat death would be stronger than his ability to attract it.---Nate needs to travel through the glowing sea, MacCready needs to get into Med-Tek, both need to rescue their sons.A deal is made(Sequel to 'Sins of the Father')
Relationships: Robert Joseph MacCready & Male Sole Survivor, Robert Joseph MacCready/Male Sole Survivor
Series: Idiot Savant [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2031331
Kudos: 27





	1. A Friend(?) Walks into A Bar

“Hey, MacCready!” 

Of all the people MacCready expected to sit down with him tonight, the last he’d been expecting was Nate. He’d mostly been hoping it would be that cute blonde lady who’d been glancing his way every few minutes across the bar, sipping one of Charlie’s watered-down cocktails. MacCready had ventured out of his back-room office to grab dinner about half an hour ago when he’d officially given up on getting any new clients for the day. It was pretty disappointing to miss out on caps, but admittedly the worst part for MacCready was sitting around doing nothing all day while he waited for someone to hire him. Sometimes he was tempted to take jobs for free just to have something to do. 

He’d seen Nate walk in through the front entrance, skipping down the staircase with that stupid trot of his. MacCready had fully expected to be ignored, or maybe receive an awkward wave he would be socially obligated to return. The last thought in his head was that Nate would flash him a big smile and pull up the chair across from him.

Three months ago this interaction probably would have ended in a fistfight, but ever since Nate’s rescue mission ended with twenty dead gunners and one miraculously-still-breathing MacCready, the two men have found a new uneasy peace between them. They weren’t friends again by any stretch - MacCready had no idea what they were now. Nate knew his secret, and he knew Nate’s, and they weren’t going at it like tomcats over a discarded mirelurk claw anymore, so that was a better baseline than before. 

“What can I do you for, Nate?” MacCready said, trying to return the pleasant tone instead of curling in on his own uncertainty. “Or are you just stoppin’ by to say hi? Can’t imagine anyone could come here for the food.”

MacCready heard Charlie huff from the bar over Nate’s laugh. How did a robot even do that? It was probably pre-recorded. 

“Nah, you got me on the first try,” Nate said, and this time MacCready could hear the unresolved undertones in the man’s voice. Nate turned his head and scratched behind his ear. “I was actually looking to hire you for something if you don’t have another job at the moment.”

MacCready genuinely wasn’t expecting that. His eyebrows shot up before he could think about keeping a neutral expression. “I’m available...” He said cautiously. MacCready reached for his beer and took a swig; he had a feeling he was going to need it for this.

“Good,” Nate said, pausing. He clearly had no idea how to start the conversation. MacCready was actually pretty used to this - most people hiring a bodyguard or hitman had trouble getting to the point if they weren’t regularly doing that sort of thing. He waited Nate out patiently and was rewarded by a very direct next line. “I’m headed to the Glowing Sea tomorrow.”

Well, if tonight wasn’t just  _ full _ of surprises. 

“The Glowing Sea?” MacCready clarified. Nate nodded. “The irradiated hellscape filled with death claws, feral ghouls, and psychotic cultists -  _ That _ Glowing Sea?”

“That would be the one,” Nate said with an uneasy smile. 

Magnolia’s singing cut between them, a soothing romantic song drifting over the table as they sat and stared at each other for way too long to be comfortable for either party. MacCready picked up his abandoned fork and started picking at the reheated macaroni he overpaid for. The noodles were shaped like tiny pre-war animals, Duncan would love it. 

“Not saying no just yet,” MacCready said, fully expecting this conversation to end with a ‘no’. “But, uh, wouldn’t your  _ other _ friend make a better traveling companion for this? I’m not sure what they teach you down in the faults but not all Wastelanders are rad resistant.”

Nate chuckled in a way that betrayed more tension than humor. “You mean Nick? Sure, he’s great and all, don’t get me wrong, but…” Nate paused again, shrinking back into his chair and waiting for MacCready to magically read his mind so he wouldn’t have to say what was on his. When that didn't happen he continued. “Nick’s got a good heart, and being completely immune to radiation is a hell of a bonus, but he’s… fragile. Like, literally. He constantly needs repairs as is; if I took him out to one of the most dangerous places in the Commonwealth and he got hurt I’d never forgive myself.”

“So I’m the expendable friend, then?” MacCready joked. Nate smiled.

“Well, I wouldn’t say we’re friends,” He teased. MacCready chuckled along. Damn, it really did feel like those first few days they traveled together way back when. The moment was over too soon. Nate’s face fell back into a frown. “In all seriousness, you’re just about the only person I trust to watch my back out there. You’re a  _ professional _ .”

Compliments aside, Nate was somewhat right. There weren’t many people who’d even consider going out there, not for any payday. Still, MacCready had to argue. “What about your Brotherhood friends? All that power armor and training should be put to use doing something other than terrorizing the locals once in a while.”

Predictably, the answer there was also a no.

“This is personal business, they wouldn’t do it,” Nate admitted with a shake of his head. “I already asked Danse, anyways. I even told him that there might be a lead on how to get into the Institute out there and he still wouldn’t help. Said it was too much of an ‘asset-liability’ and that area was off-limits to Brotherhood patrols.” 

There were a few interesting pieces of information in that sentence that MacCready picked up on. For starters, what kind of ‘personal business’ did anyone not worshiping the Atom have to do out in the middle of the friggin’ Glowing Sea? And why would any of it have to do with the Institute?

“Is this still about that ‘missing thing’ you mentioned way back when?” MacCready asked. Nate’s face answered the question before he could. MacCready shook his head. “Nevermind, none of my business. I’m not taking the job.” He looked back down at his food so he didn’t have to watch Nate’s disappointed puppy-dog face.

“Wait, just hear me out,” Nate said quickly. Applause sounded from behind him as Magnolia finished her song and moved right along to her next.

“I did,” MacCready said. “And my answer is no. Danse is right - for once - this is way too risky, even for you. Hell, I’m tempted to try and talk you out of it myself.”

“You can’t.” When MacCready glanced back up Nate’s face was set. It was rare to see the man so serious, and MacCready had it in him to at least listen to what excuse Nate had for this suicide mission. “I have to do this. It’s the only lead I’ve gotten in over a year; I have to track this guy down.”

“If it’s a person you’re lookin’ for, and they ran off into the ‘Sea, then they’re probably already dead - or feral,” MacCready said. “Whatever it is you’re after, it ain’t worth your life.”

“It is,” Nate said with finality. MacCready shrugged. 

“Then good luck to ya, man,” He said with a note of sadness that shocked even him. “You already know why I can’t go; I got other responsibilities.” 

“I can pay 10,000 caps, plus I’ll owe you a favor,” Nate said desperately. MacCready was starting to get annoyed. That cute blonde at the bar was gone, his food was cold, and this conversation was still happening. MacCready was about to shoot Nate down with a lot less grace when Nate spoke again. “And not just any favor; I can get you through Med-Tek.” 

MacCready paused with a forkful of mac-and-cheese halfway to his mouth. He scrutinized Nate’s face for any sign of a joke, or an exaggeration, or a lie - anything other than the 100% honest truth. His fork lowered back onto the plate with a clink. 

“You’re serious?” MacCready said slowly. Nate nodded. MacCready shut his mouth, gritting his teeth despite the pain in the back of his jaw that lingered over the months. “Nate, that place might be more dangerous than the Glowing Sea; it’s not just the ferals. That place had a lot of nasty shi- stuff in it. They locked it down to contain the diseases they were experimenting with.”

“I know,” Nate said. There was guilt in his eyes that MacCready couldn’t possibly fathom the origin of. “I have hazmat suits; found them on one of my expeditions with the Brotherhood. If they can keep out nuclear radiation I’m sure they’ll work for the measles.” 

That solved the problem of how he planned on surviving the Glowing Sea, at least. MacCready wasn’t entirely convinced of the idea yet, regardless of Nate’s optimism. 

Nate locked eyes with MacCready, and it was as if he really were a centuries-old man and not just some delusional nut from a back-woods vault. “We can do this, MacCready. I know Med-Tek’s layout- at least, I know the top floor’s layout. And clearing out a hospital full of ferals has practically been my only job with the Minutemen for the last year and a half. The hardest part of all this is going to be finding the right cure in the filing system.” 

MacCready took a deep breath. Was he really considering this? Two deadly missions back-to-back, both equally likely to end with MacCready and Nate as anonymous skeletons picked clean by wasteland creatures. Even if they got through Med-Tek without being eaten alive by ferals, no one had been in there since the bombs fell. There was no guarantee the cure was still there - or had ever existed at all, or that it would work if it did. The most likely outcome of all this was that Duncan dies before help arrives without MacCready ever seeing him again, except maybe in some sort of afterlife. What MacCready  _ should _ do was go home and spend what little time he had left with his son. Let the past be buried and move forward. 

MacCready sighed sharply and pushed his half-eaten dinner away before draining the dregs of his beer in a quick gulp. 

“Okay, here’s how this is going to work,” MacCready said. “We go to Med-Tek first - no negotiation,” MacCready said, pointing at Nate when he opened his mouth. “If and when we survive that, we head back to Goodneighbor, mail off the cure with Daisy, and then as soon as you’re ready I’ll follow you to the edge of the world and jump right into hell if that’s what you want.”

Nate thought for a moment, then nodded. “Right. Okay, that’s fair.” He said. “When do you want the caps?” He added

“Keep em,” MacCready said. “Favors for favors this time. If we pull this off, I’ll be in your debt for life.”

Nate was clearly uncomfortable with that. Good. It made MacCready feel a little less awkward about the situation himself. Nate looked like he wanted to argue about the caps, but thankfully neither of them really wanted to keep the conversation going. Nate stuck his hand out across the table and MacCready shook it. 

“Alright then, boss,” Nate said wryly. “See you in the morning, then.” 

“Sure thing,” MacCready said. There was a moment where neither of them moved, and MacCready took his chance. “I thought you told me you didn’t read my letter?” 

Nate’s face turned red quick and his eyes darted to the side. It was a little amusing to watch the man squirm; MacCready had almost forgotten that detail over the course of a year of despising the man. 

Nate didn’t try to deny the accusation or make an excuse, he just muttered out a quick and quiet “Sorry” like a teenager caught in the act. MacCready had to suppress a laugh. 

“Eh, ‘s fine,” He said, standing up. He was done with the tepid noodles anyways. “See you tomorrow, Nate.”

“Yeah, okay,” Nate said. He followed suit and pushed his chair back. “I’ll be by around six if that’s good with you.”

“I don’t have a watch, Nate,” MacCready reminded him. 

“Ah.” Nate’s mouth formed a thin line. He scratched awkwardly at the pip-boy on his wrist. “At dawn?” 

“Sure, Nate,” MacCready smiled. He gave his old friend one final nod before turning around and heading back to his room. He had a lot to take care of before tomorrow; prep guns, armor, ammo, stimpacks, water, a will - suddenly he wished he’d asked Nate for that 10k after all. It would be nice to have Hancock sending that back to his friends in parts over the next couple of years to make up for MacCready’s impending tragic death searching for a magical cure-all for his son. 

MacCready sighed, flopping down on his bed with his head in his hands. How did he manage to keep getting into trouble like this? Most 22-year-olds don’t have more than one or two near-death experiences in the span of three months, not even in the Wasteland. He was just unlucky, he guessed. MacCready could only hope that Nate’s ability to cheat death would be stronger than his ability to attract it. 


	2. Med-Tek

Nate was not kidding when he said he’d gotten ghoul-killing down to a science. It had taken years for MacCready to stop freezing up every time he saw one of those brainless zombies staggering towards him. Lucy’s death was still so vivid and clear - if there was one way he refused to go out, it was like that. 

Thankfully after three doses of Psycho, a vial of Med-X, and half a container of Buffout, MacCready found himself completely entranced by gunning down ferals as they swarmed from their holding pens. It had been a little hard to shoot in the hazmat suits, but after they got used to it he and Nate gunned down every single feral they came across during their quest to find the cure. Between MacCready’s assault rifle and Nate’s 10mm submachine gun, they shot through at least a thousand caps worth of ammo spraying down hoards; Nate had made absolutely certain they were both well stocked for their mission.

_ “The last thing we need is to run out while we’re down there; I doubt the scientists trapped inside had much in the way of ammunition.” _

Nate hadn’t been bluffing when he said he knew the layout of the building, which brought up a series of questions that MacCready was both too high and too busy to think about. He hadn’t ever forgotten the mysterious child’s bedroom he found when he snuck into Nate’s house that night, nor the ominous picture of “pre-war Nate.” The more he thought on it only two possibilities remained as viable to reality: one, Nate was a synth replica of the guy in the picture, if something like that was even possible - or two, Nate was a direct descendant of that man who both looked like him and was named after him. Neither explained the ‘creepy kids room’ thing Nate had going on, but MacCready was a bit too scared to ask even if he ever got the chance. 

None of it really mattered now, though. Nate could have brought about the apocalypse all by himself and MacCready wouldn’t care, not after he saw the man triumphantly return from the very last storage room, sealed-tube held high. MacCready thought he might cry when he held the tiny glass tube in his trembling hands. He blamed it on the excess of chems in his blood. 

He had Nate look over the small print on the back with a magnifying glass after shirking their protective clothing in the sterile office rooms. Nate checked the vial over and over, wanting to be sure that this really was the cure that MacCready had been searching for for so long.

“Treats Late-Stage Bacterial Cyanopapulpathy,” Nate read for the fifth time. MacCready’s heart pounded in his chest and his fingers drummed the table. Why did people in the old world have to make up such long, complex names for everything? “Symptoms include intermittent fever; asthenia ;  paralysis of the extremities; musculoskeletal discomfort; tender, dark blue furuncles around the mouth, throat, chest, abdomen and groin-”

“I still don’t know what half those words mean,” MacCready said, bouncing his leg where he sat in the centuries-old swivel chair. 

“I think extremities means like legs and hands,” Nate offered. “And it mentions blue… somethings showing up on almost every part of the body.” Nate looked back at MacCready. “We can take another look on the system terminal and see if they have some sort of digital encyclopedia on diseases.”

MacCready nodded. “Yeah… okay yeah,” he said. He had known about half-way through injecting his third go of Psycho that it was a mistake, but it hadn’t stopped him from pressing down the plunger. It was worth it to get through that last round of shooting, but he was paying for it now that there wasn’t anything around for him to kill.

Nate frowned, clearly worried, but he had the good sense not to bother someone dealing with too much Psycho in their system. He did put a gentle hand on the back of MacCready’s chair. “Don’t worry; we’ll make sure it’s the right one.”

MacCready wanted to snap back that there was no possible way for Nate to know that for sure, but he found the self-control to keep it to himself. He owed Nate  _ big _ this time. He really didn’t know how he was going to live with himself after all this was over; the shame of having his life saved by Nate was almost enough to push him over the edge last month, owing the man his son’s life too was just too much.

There was that feeling in his chest again. Like his lungs weren't filling all the way up and he wasn’t allowed to take as deep of breaths as he wanted. MacCready fought it, drawing in sharp huffs of air and and spitting them out in spite of himself. Ever since his brush with death it’s been as if his body was trying to drag him back down to hell where he belonged. He knew he looked like a junkie right now (he kind of was); he really did appreciate Nate’s normally-barely-passable discretion on display right now. Shame was crawling up and down his spine like a bloodbug on a corpse. 

Nate’s fingers clicked slowly at the keyboard. The sound was like listening to a child chew, but MacCready endured it while Nate copied over the long, ridiculous name some 2000s jackass had come up with for Duncan’s mysterious illness. Nate read back the exact same information they had read on the vial's label. “Hm. Let’s see if they have a dictionary on here.”

MacCready grunted, barely keeping his comments to himself. Underneath his rage at every little sound and sight that permeated his immediate existence, there was a real, stomach-dropping dread that they wouldn’t find what they were looking for. All this time MacCready spent in the Commonwealth mulling about, trying to find a way to get a real cure back to his kid - all of it a waste. Would he even have the strength to go back home and face his kid? How could MacCready look Duncan in the eye and tell him there was nothing he could do. MacCready was his  _ father _ ! How could he be unable to save his only child? 

Nate suddenly jumped out of his chair, and MacCready followed suit.

“What? What is it??” MacCready said, pulling his gun up from his lap. He was ready for more ferals; he needed something to kill to distract him from thinking. 

“They have a picture of the disease,” Nate said excitedly. “It’s stored on the mainframe and apparently there’s a fax machine still hooked up around here I can send it to.”

MacCready stared at Nate blankly. Nate didn’t exactly strike MacCready as the “techy” type, but there were a lot of times he knew way too much about pre-war era machines. It lent some credence to the “synth with pre-war memories” theory MacCready had. Whatever all that meant, MacCready took note of the important detail there.

“We can see exactly what this stuff is supposed to treat?” MacCready asked. Nate nodded. 

“We just gotta find the fax machine it sent to,” Nate said as he headed for the door.

“Got it,” MacCready said. “What does that look like? ”

Nate looked confused, then embarrassed. “It’s, uh, like a big terminal with a telephone on it.” He said. “If it’s still printing it’s probably making a high-pitched scratching noise, kinda like someone writing on paper really hard.”

“Okay,” MacCready and Nate split up, each searching their respective rooms for this mysterious device that Nate seemed to be certain existed. MacCready was certain he saw nothing that matched Nate’s description in his room. He was about to leave when Nate returned, beckoning MacCready into the next room. MacCready followed excitedly and was led to a machine matching Nate’s description. Between sharp  _ whirrrrr _ s and scratches a piece of paper was being produced bit by bit. MacCready could hardly breathe. 

When the machine finally quieted down, Nate tore the paper off and laid it down under the bright desk lamp behind them. 

MacCready stared at a black-and-white photo of a barely adolescent girl. She was clearly deceased, stitches holding her chest together post-autopsy. Her face was covered by a black line that MacCready realized was so no one could recognize her. Dark spots raised up in distinct patterns around her lips and under her arms, trailing down her chest and collecting at the place where her legs met her torso. There was only one time he’d ever seen anything like that before. 

The image made his head spin, the Psycho mingling with the Med-X in his system to produce juxtaposing emotions. It ended with MacCready stepping back and fumbling for the office trash can before throwing up. Nate was behind him in an instant, rubbing his back and apologizing repetitively. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” He said. “I should have looked first.” 

MacCready coughed, spitting out the last of the bile in his throat before trying to speak.

“That’s it,” He said, panting in short gasps. Stupid, malfunctioning lungs. He struggled to clarify. “T-that’s what Duncan has. That’s the disease.”

Nate’s face turned from grim to ecstatic. “Really?” He laughed, relieved. “That’s… that’s good. That’s really  _ really _ good! The file said that the cure was effective in almost all cases… he’ll only need a single dose!” 

MacCready laughed too, rubbing his face. “Yeah… yeah,” He chuckled, and when he closed his mouth he began to cry without making a sound. “That’s… that’s really…” He laughed again. Or maybe it was a sob. He couldn’t stand anymore, so he crouched down to the ground. Nate packed up the precious vial of medicine in a padded bag, buttoning the sack shut before sitting down next to MacCready.

“You alright, man?” He asked. 

“No,” MacCready replied, unable to answer any other way. Nate sat next to him without saying a word. It looked like he wanted to hug MacCready, but wasn’t sure if it would be appropriate. So instead, they just sat there looking at each other, surrounded by harsh white lab-lights and the smell of old decay mingling with fresh vomit while MacCready cried and sniffed. “God, Nate, I-” he said when he finally found his voice again. “Seriously, there’s no way I can ever repay you for this.” 

Nate shrugged. “I’d appreciate you going on that expedition to the Glowing Sea with me,” he admitted, “but honestly? I don’t really care about you ‘owing’ me. I was a dick to you for like a year, I’d feel bad if you felt like you had to risk your life for me just because I did a decent thing.”

MacCready shook his head, hiccuping in short breaths. Between the gasps, he chuckled. His head felt light as a feather and his eyes felt heavy as rocks. “You’re a good guy, Nate. Better than I deserve.”

Nate laughed, though it sounded hollow and insincere. “Now that’s just the chems talkin’.” He said. 

“I’m serious,” MacCready said, staring Nate intently in the eye. “Nate. I can  _ never _ pay you back for this. No one else on the planet would do something like this for me -  _ no one _ .”

Nate seemed to realize there was no possible way he was going to convince MacCready otherwise, so he just reached out an arm and cupped MacCready on the shoulder. He gave MacCready a genuine smile and MacCready struggled to return it. The moment was ruined by a cough and a dry heave coming from MacCready. 

"Shouldn't have done that last Chem," MacCready muttered, spitting into the waste bucket. 

"I know that feeling," Nate said with a chuckle. He reached out a hand and helped haul MacCready off his keister and back onto his feet. "Come on, there's a small settlement nearby that has extra beds for travelers. We should get you some rest."

MacCready shook his head. "No, we gotta head back to Goodneighbor. I wanna get this to Duncan as soon as possible."

"It's past midnight, MacCready," Nate said. "Daisy won't be able to help us 'til morning anyways."

Past midnight? They had arrived at Med-Tek around noon. How had over thirteen hours pass with MacCready barely noticing? How many chems did he take? 

MacCready rubbed the heel of his hand against the side of his head. As the plethora of chems rushing through his body wore off he was beginning to feel the effects of half a day of straight combat. A headache was forming between his eyes and shooting back through his skull to the point where his head met his spine. The rock-like feeling of his eyes was turning to granite and as much as he hated to admit it, there was no way he could make it back to Goodneighbor in this condition. He'd be dead weight. 

"Yeah, I guess that's fine," MacCready said. "First thing in the morning we head out though."

"Deal," Nate said. "The boathouse isn't too far; just down the road by the river. Think you can make it?" 

MacCready grunted and shouldered his rifle as he walked towards the door. Laying down in a real bed had never sounded so appealing. 

Their mission accomplished, the two men suited back up in their protective gear to leave Med-Tek behind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not certain but I'm like 90% sure I've seen fax machines sprinkled across the Fallout franchise.


	3. Hangovers and Omlettes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a mistake and thought that this fic was also 4 chapters, but as it turns out I only had 3! This is all I have written at the moment, but I have an idea for at least one more story to tell with this universe. When I'm done writing the last few chapters of [ The Black Widow's Waltz (check tags before reading)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28297518) I think I'll put pen to paper on it. I also have a prequel in the works that I plan to post to this series, so keep an eye out for that.
> 
> Thanks as always for reading! Enjoy <3

MacCready was drowning. 

He flailed his arms, trying to keep his head above the water and taking quick gasps of air between waves. He wasn't a good swimmer at the best of times, but in combat armor and boots it was impossible to keep himself afloat. He tried to cling to pieces of wood as they floated by, but every time he tried to grab ahold of the drifting driftwood his fingers were shot by the gunners standing at the side of the river. 

It wasn't fair. MacCready was so close to getting a cure for his son. He could see his farmhouse not too far away. He tried to swim towards it, but the current and gunfire made it impossible.

MacCready slipped again, head going under for too long. He sucked in water and coughed when he resurfaced. He couldn't breathe! He could hear Wilson laughing and jeering from somewhere not too far away. 

"Come on, MacCready! I know you can do better than that!!" 

More bullets. More gunfire. MacCready couldn't catch his breath. Somewhere in him, he knew this was a dream, but he couldn't wake himself up and that just made the panic worse. His lungs were collapsing under the strain, his heart beating too fast. MacCready realized he couldn't keep up, and the water began to take him. He couldn't die, he couldn't die! He had to find a cure for Duncan. He had to save his son. 

Except… no, that was right. He'd already gotten the cure. The cure was with Nate, safe and sound. Nate would take care of it. MacCready didn't need to worry, everything was going to be alright. 

The panic he felt before ebbed out of him. The water enveloped him hungrily, dragging him down into the darkness. MacCready wasn't afraid; eventually, he would have to pay the universe back the borrowed time he was living on. 

The water was crushing him from all sides, his lungs were giving out. There was an instinct to struggle but MacCready knew better than to fight. It was okay if he died. Because if he died, then he wouldn't have to worry about paying Nate back. Duncan would be taken care of by better parents than he could ever hope to be. Everything was okay. 

And besides, this was a dream, just a dream; if he died here, that just meant he would-

MacCready woke drenched in sweat and immediately regretted it. There was too much light in the world and he tasted acid and death in his mouth. His stomach cramped, his head ached, and he realized quickly he needed to get to the outhouse  _ fast _ . 

MacCready rolled out of bed, ignoring his post-high spins and stumbled his way into pants and a shirt. He had to grip the rail hard on his way down the stairs of the old boat-house-turned-inn; he nearly tripped on the porch when the sun got in his eyes. It had to be at least midday and there wasn't a cloud in the sky to protect MacCready's hungover face from a full solar assault. Why was daytime so bright again? Someone should really do something about that before people get hurt. 

It wasn't until MacCready was done with the restroom that he actually thought about the time of day. Dawn had to have been hours ago - why didn't Nate wake him up? They were supposed to take the cure first thing in the morning. Every second wasted was another second that Duncan was suffering. MacCready grumbled to himself as he pumped water from the well in front of the house to wash his hands and rinse the godawful taste of yesterday's spit-up from his mouth. 

"Oh good, you're finally awake," The ever-annoyingly cheerful voice of Nate sounded from behind him. MacCready turned around and glared at the peppy, sweaty face of his companion. "Jace told me he saw you head down the stairs in a hurry."

"Yeah, thanks for the wake-up call, assh- jerk," MacCready snipped, standing up slowly. Christ, his back hurt. So did his stomach. And his arms, his legs... "let's get going, we got a lot of time to make up if we want to get to Daisy before she closes up shop."

"Already taken care of," Nate said, beaming. He looked like a kid bragging to his parents about finishing his chores. "Daisy says congrats, by the way. I think she wants to buy you a drink when you get home."

Oh, MacCready thought. 

"Oh," MacCready said. 

MacCready sat down on the wet grass by the pump, cupping his eyes. Of course. Nate _did_ look pretty exhausted and sweaty for someone who's done nothing but sit around and twiddled his thumbs while MacCready slept in. The guy had probably sprinted the entire way there and back; Goodneighbor was a good three-or-four hour trip from here, at least. Water soaked through his pants but he hardly cared. It actually felt pretty good; god, he needed a bath. Preferably a warm one. He'd seen a tub in one of the extra rooms upstairs but MacCready didn't like the idea of bathing with strangers around. 

"You feelin' any better, Mac?" Nate asked. Instead of answering, MacCready gave him another question. 

"You got the cure to Daisy already?" he clarified. 

"Mhmm, yep," Nate said. 

"Why didn't you wake me up?" MacCready asked. 

"You were pretty out of it this morning," Nate admitted. "There was no way you could travel like that; plus, you seemed like you could use the extra rest."

"I don't remember being awake this morning," MacCready mumbled. 

"I believe that," Nate said with a half-hearted chuckle. He clapped a hand to MacCready's stiff shoulder amiably. "It's fine. The cure is on its way back to Duncan as we speak. Let's get inside and grab some brunch. Dina makes really good scrambled mirelurk eggs."

The thought of eggs almost sent MacCready back to the outhouse, but he managed not to gag and nod along. "I think I'll stick to mutfruit, thanks."

Nate smiled and offered MacCready a hand up. He almost refused it out of habit, but at this point what was one more debt to add to the pile of never-ending gratuities he would never, ever be able to pay back. MacCready was unsteady on his feet and the unyielding sunlight was about to put him back on the ground. When MacCready finally got his footing he saw Nate with his arm outstretched, offering something to MacCready. 

"Here," He said. MacCready opened his hand up and accepted the gift before realizing what it was. "Daisy gave it to me, said you'd probably be needing it."

Addictol, the world's finest (and only) 100-percent effective hangover cure. MacCready hadn't been so relieved to see drugs so soon after an overdose in a long time. 

"Nate," He breathed, already uncapping the inhaler. "You are a friggin' saint, you know that?" 

Nate wagged a finger. "Language, MacCready. What would the children say?" 

MacCready laughed while he marinated in his own patheticness. He felt like he could melt into the dirt and be right at home with the worms. He really was the worst, wasn't he? 

\---

After a dose of Addictol, it turned out MacCready was up for those eggs. And some toast, and a glass of mutfruit-tato juice to wash it all down. The few permanent residents of the boathouse were surprisingly accommodating. MacCready wondered if every wanderer got this sort of treatment or if they were being extra nice to the General of the Minutemen and his plus one. Probably a mixture of a little of the first reason and a whole lot of the second one. They at least didn't seem to mind their mooching too much. 

"We'll need to stock up for at least a week of camping. I've found out that the chapter of the Children of Atom living there are not hostile, but I don't want to rely on them as a billet." Nate said, pouring over a well-drawn map of the Commonwealth that must have cost a fortune in caps. MacCready's reading comprehension was about on par with the average comic-book-educated Wastelander, but the few notes he could read etched in tiny block print around the map seemed useful. "The epicenter is at the old power plant, so the devastation is going to stretch at least 20 klicks. I don't have an exact location, but I know our target is a cave in the more hilly areas down south"

MacCready nodded along, just barely keeping up. He had one leg crossed over the other on a plush chair in the corner of their room, snacking on a piece of toast. There really wasn't much for him to add, but his brows did furrow every now and then when Nate said something particularly odd. 

"I thought the Glowing Sea came about because of the bombs?" MacCready said around a bite of toast. Nate shook his head. 

"If Nukes alone could cause that kind of lasting damage most of the planet wouldn't be habitable right now," he said. "Back before the war there was a power plant there still running on fission power, and it just so happened to double as a missile silo. I'll bet the poor bastards at that place never even knew they were sitting on a couple trillion kilojoules of nuclear explosives."

Again, MacCready just barely understood the explanation. The Nate who used big words was still new to him; Normally Nate was one of the few guys MacCready could talk to without feeling like an uneducated bum. It’s not like MacCready wasn’t used to barely-comprehensible mission specs from clients who knew more than him, it was just not something he ever expected to experience with  _ Nate _ .

Not that it mattered. MacCready was going to keep his word on this one, even if it killed him. And, to be fair, it probably would. No amount of planning and careful execution would ever prepare them for a week in the ‘Sea. Part of him wished they would just pack up and leave tonight, just to get it over with. MacCready was struggling to keep himself from thinking too hard about what he was offering to do with Nate. Sure, he didn’t have any major stakes left in the world now that Ducan’s cure was on the way, but he still couldn’t help feeling anxious about an impending suicide mission - especially one that still made no sense to MacCready.

“So, uh, Nate,” he said eventually, catching the man between explanations. “I hate to ask - and to be clear, the answer has absolutely no impact on my involvement here. I’m going with you no matter what - but, uh…” MacCready trailed off, suddenly feeling as though he were talking through someone else's mouth. Nate’s eyes had shifted from the laser-focus of a military man back to the doe-eyed Vaultie who barely knew his left hand from a deathclaw. MacCready forced himself to find his words. “Well, I mean. I just want to know why we’re doing this.” 

Nate frowned, and MacCready figured that meant he wasn’t going to get an explanation. Nate looked away and MacCready readied an apology, but before he could find his words Nate turned back with a sigh. 

“Yeah, I figured you’d ask that,” He said. He wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t frowning either. He looked tired, older - MacCready was sure Nate had at least a decade on the young merc, but now he looked to be twice that age. “Sorry, I probably should have explained things sooner.”

“Nah, it’s not important,” MacCready said with a wave of his hand. As curious as he was, he wouldn’t dare force Nate to bare his heart to the same man who had threatened to take his kneecaps out not six months earlier. “Your story is yours to tell - or not. But if it’s something or someone we’re looking for, it would probably help to give me a little background on what to look out for.”

Nate nodded. “Yeah, and there’s that.” Nate took a breath and slouched back against the wall. He sighed and accidentally blew a page of notes he’d been jotting down from the coffee table. “The person we’re looking for is a scientist named Brian Virgil. He was the head of bio-science at the Institute, I think. He’s one of the only people still alive on the surface who knows how to get in and out of the Institute.”

Well, that. Is a mission. 

MacCready put down the last of his toast crust and stared at Nate. “You’re serious?” He said, eyebrows arched so high they probably disappeared under his hat. “You’re going after the Institute?”

“Yes,” Nate said, and if MacCready was still talking to the same Nate he once watched try to teach an injured wild mongrel to sit and fetch - there wasn’t any sign of him now. 

MacCready had a million questions, and he kept every single one to himself. Not his business. His job was to keep Nate from becoming a puddle of blood and guts in the middle of an irritated hellscape, and maybe help scout out this Virgil guy. He didn’t have any right to know why Nate was trying to break into the Institute; he would do anything the man asked him to, no matter how insane and reckless it was. MacCready could still feel the pit in his pride where Nate had saved his life, and he was still processing all that had happened the day before. He’d always taken more than he gave, it was about time he started paying his dues. 

Unexpectedly, Nate laughed. MacCready realized his jaw was still slightly agape and he quickly shut it. Rude. Rude and stupid. MacCready should probably apologize. Nate seemed to read his mind and shook his head. 

“It’s fine. Honestly, I’d be more worried if you didn’t have a reaction to all that,” Nate said. It didn’t do much to make MacCready feel like less of a jackass. 

“I just-” MacCready said, trying to defend himself. “Why? Why all of this? Are you with the Railroad? Are you a synth? Is this some kind of hero thing again, where you just can’t stop yourself from running headfirst into self-destructive levels of danger?” MacCready couldn’t stop the endless flow of stupid questions and was rewarded with a strike of guilt to the gut when Nate’s face fell. MacCready really couldn’t stop being the way he was, could he?

“You remember how I told you I’m from a vault?” Nate said. Obviously, MacCready did; for the past year it had served as the common denominator for half the insults he threw at the man. Regardless, MacCready was able to swallow his increasing guilt and nod along. “The Vault I’m from was Vault 111.” He said that as if it should mean something to MacCready. It didn’t 

“I’ve never heard of it,” He admitted.

“There’s a reason; no one in there ever made it to the surface,” Nate said, expression entirely hollow. He seemed far away and detached from his story. “Everyone who was in that vault - the people, the families, the scientists - they were all killed by the Institute. My wife was one of their victims.” 

Silence fell between them like a blizzard. Nate's gaze was far away, a lock MacCready knew all too well. 

“Wow… sh-shit man,” MacCready said, unable to stop the swear from falling out. That was dark, way darker than he ever expected from someone like Nate. Nate, for his part, barely reacted to MacCready. He met MacCready’s gaze and never looked away, yet managed to avoid seeing him entirely. It was as if they weren’t even in the same room. Because MacCready never learned from his mistakes, he asked one more question. "How on earth did you survive?" 

Nate looked away. "As far as I can tell, I just got lucky." 

They were quiet again for several agonizing seconds. After the silence dragged on for way too long MacCready spoke up again. “I’m sorry. That’s… really bad. God...” 

“Yeah,” Nate said, finally prying his eyes off of MacCready. He looked at a spot on the wall that seemed uninteresting to MacCready but might as well have the secrets of the universe in them to Nate. 

“So it’s revenge then?” MacCready asked finally. It was not a motive he would have ever anticipated from Nate, but one he could get behind. Those Institute bastards had taken a lot from a lot of people; eventually, they had to hit someone who could - and would - hit them back. Nate would definitely be a contender for that person. Might even be fun for MacCready to give them one for all the orphans and ruined lives in the Commonwealth. 

Surprisingly though, Nate shook his head.

“It’s not that,” He said. “If it were just about Nora I wouldn’t be going this far. I wouldn't risk both our lives for revenge - besides, I already killed the fucker who shot her.”

“Good,” MacCready said with a definite nod. The thought genuinely made him happy; at least Nate got that closure. MacCready had been too busy protecting Duncan to fire off a single shot at the hoard of ghouls who took Lucy from him. 

“When they killed her-” Nate choked, and MacCready thought the man might actually cry until he realized Nate was grinding his teeth. The aura of menace and malice radiating off the man soon became palpable in the air. It was enough to make the hairs on the back of MacCready’s neck stand up. “When those bastards shot Nora, they took- they took my son.”

“Took your…” MacCready’s eyes widened. Nate had a son…? Had. Past tense. “Like as in they…” MacCready couldn't finish the sentence, instead pointing his fingers to his head like a gun. The image of a woman - Nate’s wife - popped into his head, protectively throwing herself over her child as they were gunned down in front of a father who was unable to save them. 

“No, they kidnapped him,” Nate said. His fingers gripped themselves in a tight fist that left his knuckles white. “Shaun was just a baby, my wife was holding him when they-” His head jerked to the side, as though physically struck by the thought. He slammed a fist into the wall, causing MacCready to flinch and instinctively move away. Nate recovered and continued from a point further in the story, never going back to clarify. “They stole him from her. When she tried to fight back they shot her. I couldn’t stop them; they didn’t even _fucking_ notice me. They just took what they came for and left, killing everyone who got in their way. That was ten years ago, I think.” Nate paused to catch his breath. He was red in the face and his teeth grit between words. “I swear to God, I’m going to find out what they did with my son, and then I’m going to make every single one of them pay in  _ blood _ for what they did to Nora.” 

Nate’s ragged breath was the only sound in the room for a long time. 

For the second time ever, MacCready was absolutely terrified of Nate. Nate was unlike anyone MacCready had ever met - or even heard of. He was childish, amiable, charitable, strange, deadly, ignorant, overly-educated, highly-trained, an honorary Brotherhood Knight, the General of the Minutemen, a vault dweller, a father, a widower, a murderer. Despite everything he knew about Nate, MacCready knew absolutely nothing about Nate.

Nate eventually calmed down, blood draining from his face with every passing second. The menacing ambiance faded and MacCready felt the icy terror in him fading too. Then, as if by the press of a button, Nate smiled and laughed and MacCready recognized his friend again. 

“Sorry,” Nate said. “I can get a little intense sometimes.”

MacCready nodded mutely, before clearing his throat. “I-It’s fine,” MacCready lied. “I mean, that’s one heck of a story. You have every right to be upset. And for what it's worth, I’m one hundred percent behind you on this.” MacCready felt a bit more confident as he continued to speak. “Those creeps at the Institute have this coming, and if there’s any way we can get your kid back we will.” It was the least he could do for Nate. An eye for an eye, a son for a son. 

Nate looked at MacCready as if he’d just offered to give the man a kidney - warm and humbled. He was absolutely nothing like the person who had been ranting about vengeance and recovering lost family. 

MacCready really, really didn’t know this man. Collectively, there had hardly been four months where he’d known Nate and not hated him, and of those, at least two-and-a-half had been spent in an awkward limbo trying to figure out if they were friends or not. For all he knew, everything Nate said was a lie; the only proof he had that he was even from a vault was the pip-boy on his arm and the Vaultsuit proudly displaying the number “111” on the back, both of which could be stolen. Nate seemed to believe the story, at least, and of the few things MacCready knew for sure about Nate, he knew the man could not tell a lie to save his life - sometimes literally.

So MacCready was just going to have to trust him, and as far as he was concerned, it was trust well placed. Nate was good, if a bit rash and supercilious, and who wouldn’t have it in for the Institute after all they’ve done? Besides, at the end of the day, none of this mattered, because MacCready owed Nate too much to refuse. Even if the entire backstory was just some implanted memory or mad-man’s delusion, Nate had just saved MacCready’s son. Therefore, MacCready was willing to help do the same, regardless of whether the kid even existed in the first place. 

“Thanks for hearing me out,” Nate said, as if MacCready hadn’t practically begged for him to tell his story. “The important thing right now is finding Virgil and getting him on our side. I imagine anyone willing to run to the Glowing Sea to get away from the Institute isn’t exactly on friendly terms with them anymore.”

“Right,” MacCready said with a nod. He was perfectly fine with going back to planning. He still didn’t understand half of what Nate was saying, and he still wasn’t sure that they would make it two steps into the irradiated wastes before being annihilated by deathclaws, but at least now he knew for sure what they were fighting for. 

This time, MacCready was going to pay back his debts in full.


End file.
